Belladonna Took
by thefallensdesires
Summary: Belladonna Baggins is forced to lay down some guidelines for new husband Bungo, when overcome by rumours that she is about to head off to Bree he angrily confronts her in the home he built for her affection. Calling into question why she came to marry him in the first place, this is the story of Bilbo's remarkable mother and the reason why she gave up her life of adventure.
1. Off to Bree

**Belladonna Took**

 **Chapter One: Off to Bree**

* * *

Staggering back in the late afternoon from Bywater a hobbit by the name of Bungo Baggins was drunk, and more than a little annoyed with himself and other matters. As he manoeuvred through the winding paths and narrow lanes of Hobbiton he had to stop himself more than what could be considered a forgivable amount of times from falling into the verge that flanked him on either side of his walk home. On one occasion he succeeded at falling into hedgerow and had to curse himself as he untangled his brown curly hair and most impressive waistcoat from the clutches of wayward and mischievous branches. It was good that he had had the consideration to take out his best walking stick for in that instance he relied heavily on its support.

Not usually much of a drinker it had been with a heavy heart, after a rather troublesome meeting with the Mayor of Michel Delving - for whose consul he so desperately wanted to be considered - that he had found himself staying for a drink or half a dozen at the Green Dragon Inn. Whilst there he had been told some rather unsettling news and it was with a strong sense of confrontation and purpose that he strode through the round green doorframe of his house; abandoned his stick at the wall by the doorframe, threw his coat off onto one of the pegs, walked into the main parlour he had designed and built for his wife - who sat as beauteous as ever darning his socks without any show of guilt in penance for her subterfuge.

"Belladonna!" He cried in outrage when in sight of her, his breath puffing out of excitement. As he was hardly ever known to be angry or drunk she looked up from her sewing once, with a curious expression of interest, before continuing to look back down at her work – as if even his yelling was beneath her level of intrigue.

"It is not respectable for a lady of your position to go off gallivanting out of the shire. Now I am aware you've had your fair share of adventures in the past but it's important to me now that you stay here and respect your duties as my wife," he let out and took a breath before continuing, "I won't hear of you going off on any more of these adventures or running off and about as and when you please." At first she did not react and he could not believe it. He had yelled at her for the first time in their short marriage and she had not reacted.  
"Do you hear me?" His tone was obstinate and she looked up and raised her brows at him.

"Do I hear you Bungo Baggins?," she did not get up but set her sewing down on her lap. She was annoyed but spoke patiently as if to a child, as if it had been within her expectations to have had to deal with a matter of this kind.  
"Do you hear yourself? Who are you to tell me how I can and cannot please? Where to go and who to see," it was then that she felt herself becoming incensed: "why that's none of your business!"  
The impassioned Took within her had the inclination to throw his socks at him but she remained seated and settled instead for keeping her eyes locked on his within an expression of disbelief.

"As your husband I've every right to make it my business and as part of that right well," Bungo paused and was unsure if he should continue. Angry though he was, even the drunkest sides of him knew better than to argue with his wife.  
However seeing her sat so still and proud before him; looking so lovely with her soft skin glowing with youth and beauty, her wild dark hair flowing freely over her shoulders, as perfect as she'd been the day he'd wed her, her eyes locked onto his in defiance or perhaps resentment of his actions, looking as if to say _"well what?"_ ; drove him to distraction and caused him to rush out: "well I forbid you to go!"

There a pause and he thought he'd bungled it out when he had not meant to. The worst still, that what he had said could not be taken back as his wife looked at him, antagonising him further with her silence before addressing his second outburst. "Forbid me? Forbid me from going where exactly? Who said I was going off anywhere?"

"You're not?" In a more sombre and reflective part of his mind this statement was received with relief, his bitter sense of disquiet calmed down, and the matter put to rest.  
Still the ale fuelling his tongue continued: "Well why it is that folk down at the Green Dragon, Longo and Camillia Sackville-Baggins for two, seem to think you're off down to Bree appears to be eluding me."

An expression of sheer befuddlement came across Belladonna's face and she wondered what idiocy had corroded his brain, "to Bree? I haven't got any business to be going over to Bree."

Bungo supported himself against the fireplace and looked down at the embers smouldering in the hearth as if in shame, muttering so that she hardly heard: "it seems you haven't got much business to be getting on with here."

Still unsure what exactly he was referring to and very upset to find herself being accused and not asked Belladonna could not bring herself to consul him, even as he stood in dismay at the illusion that she was anything but happy in her life with him.

"I've got plenty to be getting on with," she said with an exasperated sigh. "And it seems a difficult husband to boot!"

She breathed and tried to take a moment but the words came flooding out:  
"It occurs to me that folk down at the Green Dragon are looking to make trouble for the sake of it, and I don't care for you coming home in this state trying to make a quarrel out of the hot air that comes from some folks mouths. Now I don't abide by gossip and I am sorry to say it, but Camilla has been sore ever since my brother Isengar gave her the drop, and she doesn't ever have to look too far ahead for her trouble!"

"He gave her the drop to sail a sea and we've never heard how that turned out", Bungo let slip and peaked as her eyes flashed with a wild fury and he knew he had gone too far.

It was a sore subject that had been broached without care, and out of love for her husband she let her younger brother's disappearance fade into the backdrop of their argument. This consideration however, did not show that he had won. All vigour for a fight renewed, though she had chosen to let that statement pass, Belladonna spoke as if he had not said a word.  
"I've had my share of ventures and if folks think that makes me wild then what of it? I am. But don't forget that I chose to marry you Bungo Baggins and by my father's word I'll stick to it. Tempting though it might be, I will not bound abroad every time some cotton head with too much yarn to unravel starts jabbering in your ear about what a wicked wife I am.  
For in this life I have always given as good as I've got.  
Now; I shall not forget that you have built me this home, and I will keep it warm for you, but I will only work as hard as you will work with me. This marriage is to be a union of equals or it is not to be any kind of marriage at all.  
Now, if you will excuse yourself; I do believe that you need to take a moment to sober up and calm down." Finishing her train of speech and touching her head as she began to feel queer and ill it was with a sudden appeal that she added, "please."

Although about to speak, at her sudden appeal, Bungo nodded and went to retire from the room, wondering shamefaced of how in the world with his luck he had managed to obtain and, evidently, exhaust the heart of the remarkable Belladonna Took.

* * *

 **A/N Thank you for reading. Having always wondered what type of adventures other hobbits had gone on I decided to write this and explore some of the possibilities. Please leave a review and let me know what you think.**


	2. Children of the Took

**Chapter Two: Children of the Took**

It was the height of midsummer and the spirit of the Shire possessed the sleepy complacent lull of a village in the heart of old England. The sun shone brightly and a warm breeze blew through the tall grasses, the hedgerows, and the wildflowers that were in full bloom and carried the sound of children's shrieks of laughter from the cool waters of the Little Lake throughout the region known as Tookland.  
They were the children of Gerontius Took (the Old Took as he would later come to be known), and the nine of them were playing in and around the Lake, close to the Great Smials where the Took lived, with a host of friends and beloved associates.

The area where they played was large and surrounded by woodland and greenery, the Lake was less than a mile long and edged by beaches of smooth, overlarge pebbles and tall ridges of muddy and overgrown rock face. It was known that the best view of the water was to be found at the top of one of the highest ridges, where a path which had been forged by generations met its end underneath the shelter of a horse chestnut tree – sprung by chance from a conker abandoned after a long forgotten game. The tree rested at the top of the ridge and leaned out over the water and underneath its shelter on this day was to be found the Took's eldest child and son Isengrim III.

He was then a handsome young lad of twenty eight, watching over his younger siblings with his nose immersed, as was the usual, in a book: completely unaware that the soft bronze curls of his head, his tan skin and strong arms had attracted no small amount of attention.  
A gaggle of girls sat around him, an almost silent circle of admirers, each reading her own book or pretending to read with a friend, each hoping to draw his attention away from the words he took shelter in.

Nearby watched his brother Isumbras IV, similar in features, though not quite so handsome: at twenty two he found girls a great deal more interesting than the dusty pages of books and was for this reason distracted from boosting Hildigrim, then twenty, up a tree for want of getting a better look at them.

"Hold onto my foot!" Hildigrim urged, his sandy hair flopping atop of his head as he tried to secure his footing on a branch whilst holding a leather pouch full of water.

"Hold it yourself." In a hurry to move over to where the girls were sat Isumbras boosted his brother up too quickly and Hildigrim slipped on his footing. With quick reflexes he caught onto a branch and dropped the pouch he had been carrying.  
Left soaking wet and choking in surprise as the pouch came into contact and burst upon his head Isumbras finally had the girls' attention. They all laughed at his temper as he jumped up at Hildigrim's dangling ankles, trying in vain to grab them so that he might pull him down and beat him.

"I'm sorry," Hildigrim tried not to laugh in case he slipped and fell within reach, "but Mam kept saying you could do with a wash." He swung further up to where it was safe and thought that his prank could not have gone better. This served to make Isumbras even angrier, and frustrated he went to climb up the tree after him.

As he scrambled to get his leg up onto the first branch there came a wild yell and Isembold and Hildifons - aged eighteen and sixteen - then came bursting through the trees and into the clearing, wearing only their trousers, each grabbed hold of one of their brother's arms and dragged him fully clothed between them off of the ridge and into the water below.  
The sound of the siblings shouting and laughter could be heard for miles around.  
Like cockerels rising to the light of the sun the younger boys cried out victoriously as Isumbras swore and splashed them. From the tree Hildigrim called out that he was grateful for the rescue and Isengrim roared with laughter and found the whole thing very amusing, as did the girls around him.

"There Hildigrim! We've cooled him off for you!" Isembold shouted up before he and Hildifons dove down into the depths of the water and swam away like otters caught up in a chase. Had he wanted to Isumbras would not have been able to keep up.  
As it was he had barely anytime to propel himself out of the way before the youngest of his brothers, Isembard and Hildibrand, thirteen and ten, dropped like cannon balls around him and soaked him a third time.

"Throw us in next time Isumbras!" they begged, not realising the temper they had disturbed.

"Throw you in?" Isumbras raged. "Next time I'll be sure to push you under! Now get out of here you little river rats!"

Not needing to be told twice Isembard and Hildibrand also dove down into the water with a confidence and prowess that matched that of their brothers.  
Like seals they raced away to find their older counterparts, at a pace that seemed unworldly to some of the other hobbits.

"It's not natural," one of the girls sat up on the ridge whispered to a friend. "Have they no fear of drowning?"

"Not in still waters at least." Isengrim overheard her.  
Though he didn't swim as well as the younger four of his brothers, he had been taught, as they all had been, by their father not to fear the water.

A lesson which Isumbras had not yet learned very well: he was too acutely aware of his inability and struggled to keep himself afloat even in shallower perhaps more water than he swam through Isumbras pushed himself to get over to the rocks and tried in vain to pull himself up onto one that was closest. Unfortunately it also seemed to be the one most covered in moss and just as he thought he was on his way up he slipped down again and with several eyes watching him the situation soon became highly embarrassing.  
He almost wanted to slip underneath the rocks and have done with it, so it was a vast improvement upon his luck when one of Isengrim's followers took pity and stepped down from rock to rock to help him out of the water. Holding onto his hand she pulled him up and handed him a blanket to wrap about his shoulders and helped him to dry.

"Thank you Penny." Isumbras smiled through the mop of dark hair that had fallen over his face. She rubbed it away from his face with the blanket.

"It's Pearl," she said, correcting him awkwardly. "But I don't mind," she hastened to add as he began to go red out of further embarrassment. He mumbled an apology which she accepted and the two sat down upon the rocks together.

The full flush of his embarrassment came as he took in the pretty appearance of the girl - he was soon distracted when he saw over her shoulder the large stick that his sister was wielding and swinging about wildly as she spoke in front of a small audience.  
Eight year old Belladonna was perhaps to be considered the most curious of all her siblings, and though it could be said that her tongue usually got her into more trouble than her actions – it could not on this day.

"Be careful or you're going to poke out someone's eye Belladonna!" Isumbras's concern and his cry of caution were echoed by Isengrim who had also seen the danger.

Realising she had caught the attention of her older brothers the child blushed and did a quick curtsey in their direction, which saw her throw the stick away – unfortunately it struck the head of the boy seated behind her and he slipped off of the rock he had been perched on and held a hand to his aching head as the blood began to flow.

He fell backwards into a dead faint lying flat upon the rock and the children about him began to chatter rather excitedly. "She's done a **murder**!" The cry echoed across the beach and was carried across the water.  
Belladonna stood in stunned silence, a petite wildling with dark bushy hair and a look of panic passing across delicate doll like features. She looked towards her brothers scared.

"Oh lord, you'll have to excuse me." Isumbras muttered to Pearl as both he and Isengrim raced over to where the catastrophe was unfolding.

"I'm sorry." Belladonna was to be found stood over the boy with an expression of horror on her face and her hands tangled in anguish up into her mane of dark brown curls, as she tried fathom how this had happened. "But you really shouldn't have been sitting behind me…"

"What a thing to say to a boy you've just hit over the head Belladonna." Isengrim, whose legs moved faster, was the first on the scene and he pulled the boy onto his lap to inspect the damage. "Can you look into my eyes?" He asked and Isumbras resented him for being able to look the hero as a crowd of onlookers gathered around them. He dropped down to his knees next to the boy and shot his sister a look to let her know it was going to be alright. "Let mum know we're bringing this one home," he instructed and the girl nodded once before shooting off in that direction.

The trouble she was in now was unlikely to get any worse if she helped.

Isengrim ripped a rag off of his shirt to wipe blood from the boy's brow.  
The brothers could now see that the blow from the stick had created a gash the size and shape of a small penny, quite fortunate given the size of the stick and the velocity of the throw.  
However the boy lay in a stunned silence looking off into the distance and though he was still breathing it was clear that he had gone into a state of sudden shock. He seemed a skinny slip of a lad, about fourteen at most. He was a boy not normally seen around that area and so no one could tell whether paleness was a part of his affliction or his natural way of looking. All wondered how they had not noticed him before.

"Has she killed him?" A matter of fact voice asked and Isumbras turned to see his other sister and the current youngest sibling, four year old Donnamira standing next to him, looking as though she had borne witness to some great and terrible crime.

"Of course she hasn't killed him." Isumbras shooed her away towards Hildigrim who, at first sight of the accident, had jumped from the tree, and then looked at Isengrim for confirmation.

"He's not dead," Isengrim promised, "he's just gone into a faint. We need to get him back to mum." Between the two of them they got the lad to his feet, and when that wouldn't work they carried him by the arms and legs between them and out of the way of the curious onlookers.

There was a sight for the rumour mill to behold as the procession of siblings made the journey back to the Smials from the Lake: Isengrim and Isumbras led the way with the unconscious boy carried between them, Donnamira skipped behind and held tightly onto the hand of Hildigrim, then came Isembold and Hildifons who had heard the news from across the lake, along with Hildibrand and Isembard – the four of them dripping water as they ran to keep up with the others.

It was the narrow eyed Mrs Sackville who first spied the group hurrying up the lane on their way home and turned to her neighbour to say, "I should hope that none of my children ever get mixed up with the likes of them. Wild Took children! What a wonder that their father ever made Thain!"  
In response to this her neighbour agreed and the news was soon spread that the children of Gerontius Took had fought and beaten a lad by the waters of the Little Lake.

"It's the daughters I feel sorry for." Mrs Sackville added to any who might agree. "They'll grow up savage with brothers like that."

* * *

Unaware of the vicious lie that had been circulated: the children brought the boy back to their mother to see what aid the heavily pregnant Adamanta Chubb could give. Though used to a catalogue of various injuries and common infirmities that come in package with having a large brood; it gave the woman a start to have an unconscious body placed on her kitchen table; so soon after second breakfast had been cleared and before lunch got underway.  
Though Belladonna had given warning by tearing dramatically into the burrow ten minutes prior it was not a good sight for any mother to see a child lying in a state and bleeding from the head.  
Instinct as much as experience told her what to do and though burdened by the later stages of her pregnancy she exuded authority and commanded that the youngest leave the room, the swimmers get themselves dried and decent, the three oldest help her by making bandages from old cloth and Belladonna be of use by getting the boy a nice sweet tea.

"Do we know his name? Or how this happened?" She asked her children as she wiped the wound clear and applied a dressing. Her boys looked conspiringly at each other and her daughter remained silent. No one could answer.

"I don't think he's from around these parts Mam," Isumbras spoke before Belladonna could. He could see that she was making the tea with some reluctance, guilt slowing her movements. Tears welling in her eyes as she tried not to look at the boy lying on the table: he looked to be in an awful state, pale and unmoving with blood still trickling from underneath the bandages newly wrapped around his head.

Thoughts raced around in her childish mind.  
She hadn't noticed him sitting behind her.  
She had been telling stories to her friends and playing about with the stick.  
She hadn't looked before she had thrown it.  
She hadn't taken enough care.  
She was afraid of what had happened and could not yet tell her mother.  
The accident was her fault and she felt ashamed.

"Is he going to be ok?" Her voice was tentative. She stood shaking ever so slightly with a warm mug of tea clasped within her hands.

Adamanta took the mug and studied her daughter's face before gesturing for her sons to depart the room. Isumbras left with some reluctance.  
"He will be fine," she said determinedly and taking up a chair at one side of the table next to the boy bid Belladonna to stand beside her.  
Hesitantly the girl moved closer.

From the sleeve of her dress Adamanta withdrew a small pouch and held its contents out for Belladonna to see. "These herbs are from our garden and they're special." She dropped the pouch into Belladonna's trembling hand and closed her palm so that she would have a better hold. Gently she guided her daughter's clenched fist over to the boy's nose and instructed her to wave the herbs near to his face so that he could breathe them in.  
"Their strong scent could rouse anyone back from the dead," Adamanta promised and Belladonna nodded and watched in fascination as the boy breathed in the sweet, earthy smell.  
His nose wrinkled first. Then his eyelids began to flicker and open.  
Once it was clear that he was awake Belladonna retreated shyly back into the comfort of her mother. She watched the boy give a start as he took in his surroundings and then wince as the pain of his head revisited him.

"There." Adamanta soothed and wiped a damp cloth over the boy's forehead, where the blood was sticking to his bandage. "There there my lad. You've given us quite a fright so you'd best start off the introductions and tell us what your name is."

"Bungo," the boy rasped. Belladonna wondered that this wasn't just some strange noise until he repeated it and she realised that that really was his name. "Bungo Baggins, at your service."

Adamanta smiled in amusement, admiring that he had manners, "and we're at yours young Master Baggins, now tell us please: however did you come by such harm?"

This was it. Belladonna thought. The boy was going to drop her in it. She tried to duck out of his line of sight but he clocked her. Looking her directly in the eyes and then at her mother he said, "I don't… that is I'm afraid..."  
Belladonna felt herself pleading. The only way anyone would be able to tell was via the desperate look in her eyes, a look which her mother could not see for view of her patient.

"That is I don't really know." Bungo lied and he did it surprisingly well for a boy who had never once told a lie in all his life.

"Well." Adamanta stood smiling down at him warmly. "I suppose such things can't matter now. We'll be wanting to feed you lunch, and have you rest here awhile, and then I suppose there'll dinner to be thinking of whilst we wait for your parents to come and get you."

"My parents?" Bungo looked momentarily panicked. "How do you know that my parents will be coming?"

Adamanta laughed and shot a brief look to a point just outside of her kitchen window. "If I know folk around here who like a gossip as much as I think they do: then your parents are already going to be on their way." At this news the boy groaned and lay back down upon the table.

* * *

While Adamanta settled into the task of creating lunch and became distracted, Belladonna came up to Bungo's ear and thanked him for covering for her.

"I'd only come to explore the area." He confessed. "I don't know these parts well and I'm not even supposed to be here. But I got distracted when I heard you telling stories and I wanted to know how you ever came to make up such tales."

"They're not tales." Belladonna looked temporarily indignant; "they're truths. About real peoples and things that have happened to them, or so my dad knows."

Bungo supported himself to sit up upon the table. Belladonna sat on the chair looking up at him.

"But how does your dad know any elves?" He referred back to a story she had been telling earlier, about a chance encounter in woodland with an elf she had named Glorfindel.

"My dad knows all sorts of folk," she exclaimed proudly. "He's Thain of the Shire you know."

"Thain of the Shire?" Bungo gave a start. "My dad won't believe this," he muttered under his breath, realising with some fear that his parents were now going to be even less amused at his disappearance. He tried to get off of the table. "I'd best be going now."

"But you can't be going yet," Belladonna argued. "You haven't had any lunch yet. And you need to rest." She tried to push him back down onto the table but he was larger than her and soon brushed her off. With effort he went to stand on his feet and then swooning had to grab onto the back of the chair.

"See you've hurt your head. Now you'd best stay. Or I'll have to get my mother to make you." Adamanta had by this point disappeared in search of supplies in one of the families abundant larders.

Bungo looked from the back door of the kitchen, which could be viewed passed the stubborn Belladonna's left shoulder, and then down at the little girl who tried to impede his escape. A flicker of annoyance passed over him and so he made his threat: "You need to let me go or else I'll tell your mother that it was you who hit me over the head with a log!"

Fear crossed her features for a moment, he thought he had won and not through the most decent means, until a renewed purpose passed over her and she moved to be more in his way. "Tell her. If you like, she'll think it's a darn sight cleverer than that headache you're going to have if you don't rest first!"  
Then she shrugged and went to let him passed. As he crossed to the doorway she added, "just how far is home for you anyway?"

Bungo thought about it. After a long morning by the Lake and a stint unconscious he couldn't rightly remember whether he was coming or going, let alone how far away the going was. "I live in Hobbiton," he said.

Belladonna let out a tsk sound. "Well that's not good. What with your jelly legs and your battered head I'd be surprised if you make it as far as our gate. Let alone walk for the odd mile or four it takes to get from here to there."

"It doesn't take four miles." Bungo argued although it wasn't in his reasoning to remember he didn't want to be outsmarted by a girl who was six years younger than him.

"Then how many does it take?"

There was a long pause. "Not four miles," was all Bungo could think to argue.

Knowing she had almost won Belladonna sat back down, "you'll make home in good time if you walk for as long as it takes you to think."

"Well I won't be thinking," Bungo said stuffily.

"What a boring type of walk that would be. My dad says he does all of his best thinking when he's on a walk."

"And I suppose his type of walk involves wood elves and creatures of old folks tales."

Belladonna did not take the bait. "As it happens…"

"Well go on then." He did not like to admit that he was wrong to leave when he was hurting and so decided simply to lean against the doorframe as if in interest.  
"Who was Glorfindel?"

"Glorfindel," at mention of her hero she became serious. "Is the greatest hero of all the elven lords. Older than many of the first ages and wiser than any that came after he is a great legend of our time. Some say that he is a reincarnation of a great warrior who came before, whilst others whisper that he is but a shadow of starlight sent to shine down upon the earth and offer council in the darkest of times, those which have been and are still to come... he has fought in great battles and seen much of this earth but of all places he loves the Shire most and comes often to visit the Old woods and ancient spirits who most say dwell there." She spoke about him as if reciting from the pages of a book he had never read.

"I've never heard anything of that like before." Bungo spoke as if he had authority.

"It doesn't make it any less true."

"But what spirits do you speak of? I've got cousins live up that way and I haven't heard talk of any spirits."

"I'm speaking about a man who is older than time and his wife of the river."

"You're not making any sense."

"Well you're making it difficult by not paying attention."

"I am paying attention but you're –" Bungo argued and then a voice cut him off.

"Stop teasing him Belladonna." With the feeling that lunch would almost be ready Isengrim had walked back into the kitchen and with an older presence suspended their conversation. "Take a seat Master Baggins and I'll have Belladonna get you another drink."  
The boy did as he was told.  
"Seen as she hit you over the head," he cut in before Belladonna could argue, "it would only be fair for her to look after you."

Pulling a face the girl went to the stove and found the tea jar empty of leaves. Knowing this meant a journey to one of the larders she barged passed her brother in the doorway, and scowled when he stopped her arm. "It's best to not speak of our friends."  
Bungo overheard the whisper but made no comment as he considered the first tea he had already left to grow cold and untouched.

* * *

It wasn't until much later, when lunch was over and dinner had been served that Bungo asked her what had been meant. By then he had grown comfortable in the home of her family and felt friendly towards the company of her brothers and young sister – who had warmed to him as they would have any member of their clan.

"Oh," Belladonna cast a cautious eye up to the head of the table where her father was now home and caught in raucous laughter with her mother and three of her oldest brothers. "Only that mother doesn't like us to speak of father's adventures. She thinks it's dangerous talk this side of Buckland."

"Right." Bungo meant to ask more but was side tracked by a statement being directed at him by Gerontius, her father.

"You're Mungo's boy!" He exclaimed over the rim of a large pint of ale - he had one glass every evening which was said to keep his toes warm.

"Aye," Bungo couldn't be sure how to reply to such a statement. "That I am sir."

"Well what a pleasure it is to have a son of Mungo seated at my house. I can't say that I'm not surprised - especially after all that unpleasantness."

He meant to ask what unpleasantness that might be exactly but Adamanta stepped in and took away Gerontius's glass to pass it to Isengrim to get rid of.

"Why my love you've clearly had far more than a pint this eve, and barely three slices of the pie I baked for your return home. I think you're exhausted from your journey and we'd probably be best off getting you to bed. Come help me boys."  
At her command she had Isengrim, Isumbras and Hildigrim lift Gerontius to his feet and would have had them carry the portly middle aged hobbit out of the kitchen and off to his quarters, had the door not shook at that moment from the force of the knock that surprised it.

"Well who on earth could that be?" Adamanta looked at her husband as if the answer lay behind his bleary eyes but he merely gave a shrug and sank back down into his chair. Young Hildebrand, who was nearest, opened the back door and Isembold stood by his side protectively as a bright light was shone into the candlelit comfort of the Took's kitchen.

"Bungo," a voice roared.

Looking as if this rude display had been expected, the boy moved closer to the light, face flushed in embarrassment and was stopped on his way. A hand was clapped onto his shoulder and he was used, somewhat wearily, as a crutch to allow Gerontius to stand as the patriarch peered through the light to assess the intruder who now stood in his doorway.

"Who comes at this hour to claim the boy I currently have in my keeping?" The ale had gone from his voice to be replaced with same the level of superiority that might be expected by one who held the title of Thain.

"I am known to you Thain," the last word was spat, "as Mr Mungo Baggins and I would quite like to take my son back from your keeping."

"If that was your intention, I am not keeping but merely hosting the boy here so why should your tone be as though you are accusing my family of some offence?" The Thain asked.

"Because if the reckoning of other folks around here is true than it is by an offence of your family, that is reason why I find my son, held in your midst, with a wodge of linen wrapped thrice around his head to hold his skull together."

"Lower your lamp friend." Gerontius's use of the term was loose. It was clear the hobbits had no affection for each other. "And spare a thought for my youngest whose eyes have not before seen so much of light, in so small a chamber."

The lamp was lowered and brought into view a grumpy face set at the top of a rather rotund body, this was Bungo's father and he was as mean as his small eyes foretold.

"Now that we are better known to one another I would like to ask how it could be in your belief that a boy my kin might have attacked would be so comfortable as to sit amongst them eating food at my table."

For that Mungo had no answer. His anger at the Thain had seized upon the first opportunity he had had to lash out at him: a fuel to his temper being the disappearance and unsafe return of his son: "were you attacked boy?"  
The directness of the question shook Bungo for until that moment he hadn't really believed his father to have properly looked at him, and now that Mungo was he wondered that he might not be a little disappointed to find that the bandages held no purpose other than to stem the flow of blood from a small cut which had since sealed – he was not so bad as to need his head held together.

"Not really father. I feel a lot better now." He nodded at Gerontius. "You've been very kind… but I really had best be off now."

"They didn't _attack_ you then?" It was not only by Bungo's hearing that he sounded disappointed.

"No father. I really am fine. In fact, it was an accident really. Caused by a falling branch –" at this Hildigrim snorted, looked at Belladonna – who blushed - and was kicked in the shin by Isumbras, "if we could be going home now. I'm a bit tired and I've been fed well enough that I might yet sleep for a few days."

"That'll be the head wound." Mungo said gruffly and allowed his temper to cool as he backed out into the night air. "Come on then lad. I haven't got the time to stand here exchanging pleasantries."

"You must have only seconds then," Hildifons spoke under his breath and was shot a warning look by his mother.

"I'll bid you farewell then Thain and hope that our paths might cross under more private conditions, away from the ears of such young listeners."

With a forlorn looking Bungo trailing in his path the odious Mungo Baggins stormed away from the burrow, the light of his lamp blinding any who had the misfortune to cross his path.

Hildebrand pushed the door shut with a bang and Gerontius felt ten pairs of eyes stare at him expectantly for an explanation as to what all that was about.  
If the experience had been unnerving the plain expression of his face remained unchanged.  
Although the level of his calm almost cracked when he looked into the curious eyes of his second born daughter, Belladonna, and saw as he had when she was born the colour match of the little girl they had first lost.

One day, he decided, he might offer her an explanation as to what that evening had been about. Until that day he would speak no further of this evening.

That night Belladonna went to bed with the sense that her father was keeping a grave secret to his chest and close as she felt to him she was determined to find it out.

* * *

 **A/N To anyone who may be following this story I owe you my apologies: I write as I'm able and I haven't been able in a while. Thank you for your patience and any feedback you might like to give -** thefallensdesires


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